


What Benni Said

by secondsofhappiness



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17169482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondsofhappiness/pseuds/secondsofhappiness
Summary: Filler Post-La Grotta. Marti reflects a little on that night from his bed in the very early morning.





	What Benni Said

**Author's Note:**

> This is for you all. Sorry it’s a little late. This is for making the process of watching this season so special and so much fun, for all of your kind words, for all of the chats and discussions, for all of the ridiculousness and for making me smile. Thank you to @solo-silenzio, @madeforgardens and @loving-nicotino for all of their dedication to allow us non-Italians to enjoy the magic too. I will miss Martino Rametta like crazy - the bluest, bravest boy with the beautiful smile. I will miss Nico whose vulnerability but willingness to try taught me a lot. Thank you to all you lovely lovely people and to the few I spent so long chatting to (you know who you are) and who made the whole thing so special. It’s not much but it’s something little to say thank you ❤️💙

 

There’s one thing that stands out for Marti. From the moment Nico had pulled back from their hug, wiping at his eyes until the second he had fallen asleep wrapped in Marti’s arms, the feeling of being needed had been overwhelming.

Marti smiles, tugging the duvet higher until he can tuck it around his neck. He turns on his side, eyes on Nico as he helps them match and makes sure that no part of Nico is exposed, that’s he’s warm.

It’s new, this feeling. It sits in Marti’s chest and blooms and aches; he can’t quite shake it and hasn’t been able to since he stepped onto that balcony. He’s needed. It’s not like Nico can’t live without him, it’s more that he doesn’t seem to want to and isn’t that the most _miraculous fucking special_ thing in the whole world. He makes someone feel better; Nico wants him close. Somebody wants all of him without question.

It’s the kind of sense of responsibility that would have seemed insane only weeks ago when life was all grey and tangled and numb. Life had been fragmented into visible and invisible fragments, people had been held at arm’s length and each day had seemed like a chore to complete with a welcome ending.

Now, it’s like Nico said in his text. He said he saw Marti as one of the lights, one of the many twinkling from afar but how do you process that when life has been missing light for so so long? How do you explain to someone that being their light makes life seem endless and possible again, makes your heart ache with affection and the will to do better? How do you explain that they are your light too, that you don’t see any of the darkness they say they hold inside because simply seeing them is like opening the curtains in the morning - they brought you to life and now you get to show your gratitude.

Marti sighs, eyes still on Nico watching his chest rise and fall against the sheets. He looks exhausted, eyes rimmed red still and a small dark spot on the pillow from his tears but he’s present and warm and sleeping - it’s a _gift_.

It’s with that thought that Marti lets his mind flood with memories of the previous evening, lets his left hand reach out to lie softly in Nico’s open palm and with gentle strokes of the warm skin there, let’s himself drift off to sleep once more.

———

The balcony is cold but Nico’s warm breath is a contrast to the icy nose pressed against his neck. Marti can feel Nico shaking a little and leans them both out of their hug with Nico’s hand holding hard to Marti’s sleeve. The cold air bites around them as Rome stretches out, a blanket of tiny lights but Marti strokes at Nico’s hair and the world shrinks.

It’s obvious that Nico isn’t up to talking. His eyes are glassy and a little unfocused but Marti smiles and smiles and smiles because he’s here. He’s safe and warm in a scarf and coat, he’s close enough to touch and Marti can help. Or he can _try_.

Words spoken in a bathroom echo in his mind as Marti stretches his thumb to wipe a stray tear from Nico’s cheek. He’d said those words out of bitterness and disappointment, as some attempt to hold onto those feelings because without them was an emptiness that sometimes surged hot with anger.

He barely recognises the person in his mind. Regret sinks low in his stomach but the old emptiness and anger brought him here and he understands how little he knew and how wrong he’d be proven to be.

He’d been so choked with his own fear and confusion to see clearly. It’s all snapshots now, retrospect providing clarity. Ma in the kitchen making pasta so slowly as exhaustion threatened to take over her limbs. Her hands would shake but she’d keep going because it was Marti’s favourite. Her dainty fingers resting on his arm as they watched some terrible crime show with no plot. The way she’d kiss his cheek every day without fail. How tired she looked in the morning in her robe but despite it all, how she’d run her fingers through his hair and smile. She loved the colour of his hair, always saying it’s the one thing she’s pleased he inherited from her. The way her eyes would slide into melancholy at those words because the unsaid things were laid out bare - “ _I hope you don’t inherit the res_ t”.

It’s with an onslaught of regret that Marti swallows hard and decides to pour every learned lesson into this moment. It’s happiness and not sadness that he feels coursing in his veins. He’s smiling and he can’t stop because he understands now, has to contain the rush of relief and gratitude he feels for the people he has in his heart because they’re why he’s standing and breathing and at peace.

He can be _that_ for someone. He can take Gio’s warm smile and his Mamma’s soft hands and Filippo’s fierce words and be that someone for the boy whose eyes make his heart stop.

“Do you want to sleep at my place tonight?” he asks just as Nico’s eyes start to slide downwards again. He looks weak on his feet and Marti is sure the hold Nico has on his arm is partly to keep himself upright.

Nico sniffs, eyes darting up once to meet Marti’s then back down again to his feet. “I don’t- it’s not- I mean, you don’t need-” he tries and Marti feels the shame lodged in Nico’s chest because it sticks in his own throat, prickles at his eyes but strengthens his heart.

“Ni, do you want to sleep at my place? It’s ok if you don’t but I want you to answer without thinking, ok?”

And it’s then that Nico meet his eyes and they focus like the lenses of a camera, the sparkle in them returning a little as Nico just looks and looks. Marti’s chest _aches_.

“Yes” is the answer, soft and barely there but the edges of Nico’s lips curl into a smile and it’s like fireworks, like a dizzy fall into something unknown and for the first time, Marti just breathes into it, nods and slides his arm into Nico’s.

As they make their way down from the balcony, leaving the twinkle lights behind, Marti chooses to fill the silence with the story of his trip to the balcony. Their balcony. Nico hums a few times, lets out the odd breathy laugh and at the mention of Chicco Rodi, turns to meet Marti’s eyes in the little cave next to a pile of dirt. They stop then in the darkness.

It’s as romantic as most of their other moments and Marti smiles into an inexplicable laugh, pressing his face into Nico’s shoulder.

“What?” Nico asks. Marti tips his head up and rests his forehead against dark curls with a grin.

“I’m just thinking about how romantic we are,” Marti laughs out lightly and watches Nico’s face soften, chest aching with affection. He swallows and Marti takes in every detail, holding it close to his chest because Nico is beautiful. He’s all dark features and flushed cheeks and he’s holding tight to Marti’s arm again.

Nico takes a breath before he speaks. “At least this time it’s your fault,” he says, voice still a little croaky but Marti watches the twinkle in Nico’s eyes and brings his own hands to Nico’s face again, closing whatever distance exists between them and kisses him slow and soft.

Nico’s grip on him loosens a little as they sway together and Marti smiles wide as their lips part. “I blame Chicco Rodi,” Marti says then because it’s guaranteed to make Nico laugh and it reminds him of headphones and sudden flashes of light through a pane of glass.

Nico doesn’t laugh but he does smile; he smiles wider than he has since Marti arrived and he presses his shoulder to Marti’s as they step carefully through rubble and god knows what else to get to the fence.

They finish the entire tutorial in reverse with limited discussion but without ever losing a hold on each other and with the odd murmur of encouragement.

The bus is empty, as is Marti’s street as they step into the cold and Marti fumbles for his key. Nico is beside him, shoulders curled inwards and it’s when Marti begins to silently list all of the ways he can think to comfort a person, all of the things other people have done for him.

_Food. Distractions. Comfort. Space to decide. Smiles. Words said with meaning._

As they cross the threshold of the apartment, it feels like a moment and Nico holds back for a second before Marti turns, holds out his hand and smiles wide, slotting their fingers together. With a tug, Nico follows him into the dark of the hallway and Marti presses a grin into his scarf as fingers tighten against his own. He’s got this.

_Keep going_.

They stop at the door to Marti’s room and he breathes deep, turning to press his back into the frame and to hold onto the boy beside him. Nico seems a little more present, eyes scanning the hall before settling on Marti’s.

“I didn’t think I’d come here for the first time like this,” he says and somewhere deep in Marti’s chest aches.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marti adds quickly and offers a smile, “you’re here and that’s all that matters to me.”

**Said with meaning.**

The words seem to work because Nico’s face softens, his eyes fill with what Marti recognises as fondness and it’s like a drug, like his heart reaches out to Nico’s in that moment and offers everything, anything, it can. It’s a heart so inexperienced but willing and hammering hard in his chest.

“Would you like something to eat?” Marti asks them as he pushes open his door and guides Nico inside, turning on a lamp as he goes. “I could make something for us if you’d like or I could just bring biscuits and tea. Espresso maybe? Or we have leftovers I could heat up. Just tell me an-“

“Marti,” Nico interrupts and it’s laced with a little humour. His eyes sparkle and Marti laughs, head ducked.

“No food,” Marti breathes out with a grin. “Message received.”

_**Space to decide.** _

And just like that things are so _normal_. They’re standing in Marti’s room bundled in Winter coats, a collection of cold fingers and tear stained cheeks. It’s weird but it’s everything and Marti slides his hand out of Nico’s grip and busies himself finding a warm jumper and pyjama pants, hands missing the heat of Nico’s skin in an instant.

He’s distracted for a moment, knows that Nico has perched on the edge of his bed, and it isn’t until he finds what he’s looking for and turns back towards Nico that he sees the flicker of lamplight in the tear tracks on Nico’s face.

Marti discards the clothes, throws them somewhere on the bed and is on his knees in front of Nico, hands reaching out to hold Nico’s face a way that seemed to comfort him on their balcony. Nico’s face is crumbling, his lips wet with tears and his brow lined deep. He’s struggling and Marti fumbles in his mind, desperation kicking in for a fraction of a second he hasn’t got to waste because seeing Nico hurting is difficult, watching him turn inward feels wrong when Nico’s heart has so much joy to give.

And that’s when it slots together. The _giraffe_. Head and heart and the space between.

“Tell me what Benni said,” Marti says without thinking.

_**Distractions**_.

Nico doesn’t react quickly. It takes Marti to duck his head to catch his attention, repeating his request and he watches as tears flood Nico’s eyes, the same eyes that make his heart swell in his chest till he’s sure it’ll burst. Marti’s face slides into affection as he wipes at Nico’s cheeks, stroking at the curls framing his face before letting his hands slide down to curl around Nico’s, holding tight.

“La giraffa ha il cuore lontano dai pensieri”, Nico says on a whisper, fingers slotting in Marti’s. The words sound beautiful because they’re laced with meaning, said like a mantra. It’s like going back to a bed, a boy and talk of dreams in a desolate land. It’s then that Marti swallows hard, looking up at Nico with a nod.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, squeezing Nico’s hands. “I think I understand now.”

“I’m sorry,” is Nico’s whispered reply and Mart shakes his head instantly, Nico’s cheeks once again in his hands.

“If you promise not to apologise to me anymore, I’ll stop offering you all the contents of my fridge, deal?”

After a beat, Nico laughs and it’s genuine and beautiful and the best sound Marti has ever heard.

He can do this. _They_ can do this.

“Deal,” Nico says softly, reaching out to press his palm to Marti’s cheek. It rests there warm and featherlight, fingers eventually moving up to brush at the curls across Marti’s forehead. He smiles, eyes closing for a second and head falling to rest against one of Nico’s palms.

“I’ll give you a second to change if it would help? I can go get us some water?”

Nico nods then, slides his palm down to Marti’s knee and taps it gently. “Are you sure?” Nico asks, swallowing, “about me staying the night?” There’s still a whisper of insecurity. Nico is asking for validation, for confirmation that he’s wanted and just like that, Marti sees conversations in Nico’s past, imagines the experiences that have created a boy so bright and kind and yet still unsure of the love he deserves. It’s difficult to keep up with what is swirling in Nico’s brain but Marti sighs out and stands, let’s his hand stroke from Nico’s cheek, down to his jaw where, for the second time in one evening, tips Nico’s chin up a fraction.

“If you want to stay, I want you to stay,” Marti says simply - _fiercely_ \- and allows himself to smile around the words because understanding how Nico feels isn’t necessary. It isn’t possible - not really. So many years spent locking up his feelings has created a credit, a stockpile of love. It’s a long time left untouched so what is possible and absolutely necessary is Marti’s ability to use it, spend it, offer it to the person whose dark eyes and killer smile changed his world. “You can sleep next to me.”

Those words make Nico bite his lip, fighting a grin despite the drying tears on his cheeks. He nods and sets to unloop his scarf and unbutton his coat as Marti leans to pull Nico’s replacement clothes closer and then the door that he leaves open a fraction.

Two mugs of tea later, Marti’s in his shirt, jeans and socks as he toes open the door. The room is warmer now, the only light is provided by his lamp but it’s cosy and Nico is sat against his headboard in borrowed pyjama pants, tshirt and a crinkled hoodie. It’s everything all at once.

“I like your room,” Nico says softly as Marti rounds the bed, placing both mugs on the nightstand. “It’s very you.”

Marti laughs then, perching on the edge of the bed to look at Nico over his shoulder. “And what is that supposed to mean?” He’s grinning, can’t stop it even for a second because Nico’s nose is pink, his hair wild and he’s grinning too.

_**Comfort**_.

“Nothing,” Nico sighs, reaching for a mug and holding it between both hands, “just that it’s no fuss, it’s so blue and it’s kind of cool in an understated way.”

With a breathy laugh, Marti turns. His eyes are shining - he can tell - face beaming because Nico called him cool, Nico is on his bed, Nico is going to sleep alongside him for a _full night_. Suddenly it dawns on him slowly, Marti’s brain, chest, heart flooding with warmth because via text the mood was melancholy, the twinkle lights of Rome were wistful and caused sadness and longing but now, in Marti’s bedroom, all seems _well_.

There are going to be difficulties and moments of confusion and struggle but if they can get _here_ , to _this_ , then they can do anything. They just need to take it slow, remember the simple things and always fall back into each other in the easy, familiar, intimate way that seemed to be perfected instantly from the moment they were separate by glass in a radio room.

It takes a minute to change into pyjamas as Nico sips his tea, a moment to switch off the lamp and a second for them both to slide into bed and under the duvet into each other’s arms. Marti shuts his eyes tight, breathes deep to calm his heart at the sensation of Nico’s body curling close and onto his chest and wishes that each moment, each minute, could last forever.


End file.
